


Different Kinds of Treasure

by kittykatknits



Series: Pluck a Red Rose Blowin [3]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Not a Poldark AU, Poldarkish, R plus L equals J, Robb Ships It, Smut, The Starklings Are Alive
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-16
Updated: 2017-05-24
Packaged: 2018-11-01 09:02:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10918626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittykatknits/pseuds/kittykatknits
Summary: Sansa gave him a tantalizing smile before kissing him, a slow rub of their lips together. “When would I wear such things? Besides, there are different kinds of treasure.”Jon could hear the light echoes of her laugh in his head, she was teasing him. “Aye, I’ll show them to you once we get that dress of yours off.”____Jon starts the harvest feast with a gift for his wife and ends it with a plan to disappear into the forest. A few days later, he takes Sansa away to discover the magic hidden away in the woods.Like other works in the series, you DO NOT need to have seen the show to follow this story.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The explicit rating is earned in the second chapter...

Jon loved to watch his wife prepare for the evening, her naked body in their bath, a private little display meant only for him, then the gentle rub of creams into her soft skin. She would dress slowly for him, a delicious treat, a forbidden glimpse into what would be his later that night. He especially loved evenings such as this one, when he knew her selected gown was for him. Sometimes she would wear the black and red for him or the blues she loved, but his favorites were the greys. Tonight’s choice was a grey silk, a white direwolf with red eyes on her chest. It was for him, the reversed colors of House Stark and he loved her for it.

“I have something for you.” He approached her, sitting at her dressing table, and met her eyes through the mirror.

Sansa smiled, mischievously. “Have you brought me a lemon cake? Or perhaps more blue silk ribbons?”

“No, something else, I had it made for tonight.” He stroked along the edge of her gown with a finger before drawing her hair from her neck. He laid the necklace hiding away in his hand on her dressing table. “Here.”

Sansa picked it up, curious. He could see the exact moment she realized what he had given. “It’s Lady, Jon. You made me Lady,” she sobbed.

It was a miniature portrait he’d had commissioned, the image had come from his memories of her direwolf the last time he’d seen her so many years ago. “She’ll always be with you, I thought you might like a reminder of that with you wherever you go.”

“Put it on me, please.”

Jon did as instructed then bent down, delivering open mouthed kisses along her bared flesh. “We should stay here tonight, there are enough people in the Great Hall, we won’t be missed.”

“It’s the harvest feast, we need to go.” She stood and faced him. “My lord husband is the king’s hand and a prince, he would be sorely missed.”

Jon snorted. “The harvest feast can go bugger itself. I’d rather stay here with you."

Sansa placed her hands on his chest, stroking. “There will be singers here in Winterfell, Jon, and dancing,” she pleaded.

Neither of those particularly excited him. “Later tonight then.” He leaned into her, their noses grazing before he kissed her. “Old Nan can put the children to bed.”

Sansa giggled, taking his offered arm. “Has Lyanna told you? She expects both you and Robb to ask her to dance tonight.”

They went to the Great Hall together, taking their place at the high table as members of the royal family. The hall was full, bodies stuffed together on every bench and at every table. The room was a cacophony of noise, a blend of boisterous laughter, women’s chatter, and the squeals of children. The north wished to revel in their celebrations, the ale and wine would flow this night. Soon enough, the war horns would be brought out and games made. Jon had been surprised at the number of Houses present from the Riverlands and Vale, the journey to Winterfell was not an easy one. Sansa had only said it was as she expected.

After the meal, the floor was cleared and the music started. The dancing began, northern reels and slow love songs, and more.

A hand stroked along his arm. “Jon…”

“Go, Sansa. Enjoy yourself. “ He pretended not to see her disappointment, taking another sip of his ale.

She left him, slowly moving through the hall, stopping to greet whoever crossed her path, a Riverlands knight, their master of horse, even a Vale second son. Robb held the title of king and he was the hand but there many times, this night included, where Jon thought his wife made it possible for them to rule. Sansa had a gift, a way of speaking, she smoothed over complaints or offered suggestions with subtle flattery.

The room grew ever warmer, as the many bodies danced and moved about, the music echoing off the stone walls, the laughter increasingly boisterous. The hall was slowly becoming a place of debauchery. Jon suspected every hidden crevice and darkened space in Winterfell would soon have lovers hiding away. More than one bastard would be made this night. Likely, a few betrothals as well.

Jon poured more ale into his cup, tracking his wife as she moved through the room. The noble women were dressed in silks and velvets, their necks and fingers and ears were decorated with a selection of jewels and pearls. Hair clips made with sapphires and large, emerald rings. He saw strands of pearls woven into hair and a necklace so heavy with rubies he was certain it would snap the woman’s neck.

Sansa’s only nod to any jewelry that night was the simple portrait of Lady he’d made for her. Her hair fell loose about her, no thick braid as she often wore, the bright auburn shining and rippling with the torch fires. He should have gotten her sapphires to match the blue of her eyes, diamonds and pearls to match the white of Ghost, or even rubies for his father’s House.

“Is there a reason why you have spent the entire evening staring at my sister?”

Jon sighed, he knew how this conversation would go. “Hello, Rickon. There is nothing wrong with a man who chooses to look upon his wife.”   

“There is when you choose to ogle her as if she is a common slattern,” he growled.

Jon rubbed his temples, he had drunk more ale than planned. “Your sister is not a common slattern, Rickon, and I’ll thank you not to speak of her that way.” He took his attention away from Sansa, focusing on his younger cousin. “I had been contemplating what sort of gift she would like.”

Rickon had been the sole Stark to not be pleased over his marriage with Sansa, and would still occasionally remind Jon of that fact. He had committed the unforgivable sin of taking away the boy’s beloved older sister. “I know something she would like, Sansa told me just today.”

Jon cringed, not certain he would care for the answer. “And what did she tell you?”

Rickon grinned. Jon would not like his answer. “For you to go away.”

“That’s not what Sansa told us, Rickon.” Bran began pulling on his younger brother’s arm. Jon suspected the youngest Stark had a bit too much ale. “She said she would like for both of them to go away. Something about magic in the forest, Jon, I didn’t listen.”

“I thank you all the same, Bran.”

They left him to his ale. He refilled his cup and drank.

“Your daughter will have an army of suitors at your door one day, Snow.” Robb took the empty chair to his right. His crown was gone and his skin had a sheen to it, the curls by his ears dampened from the heat and dancing. Jeyne would have watched over how much ale he had that night.

“It’s Sansa’s doing, Lyanna will make them love her, just as she does.” Their daughter had Sansa’s hair and eyes, she would grow to be as beautiful as her mother one day.

“You think that? She’s just like you.” Robb took his cup, taking a large swallow. “Allow me to share an observation with you, Jon Snow. Your biggest flaw is this continued belief that Sansa has somehow done you a favor by marrying you, as if you are not quite good enough. The smartest decision my sister has ever made is to wed you, sullen ass that you are.”

Jon felt dumbfounded, he was unaccustomed to such bluntness from his cousin.

“Husbands should take care when their wives have been neglected too long.” Jeyne had come up behind them, tapping his shoulder and pointing.

Sansa was in the middle of the hall floor, dancing with a young man amongst the press of  bodies around her.

“My wife is a very wise woman. I must bid you a good night.” Robb stood and began kissing Jeyne’s jaw and neck, hands pulling at her hips.  

Jon grabbed his cup, mostly emptied from Robb’s theft. He took a final swallow before tossing it and standing. He strode away, towards Sansa, passing lovers, both young and old. He saw the Umbers playing a drinking game, slamming their horns together, maids from Mooton and Piper tossed in the air during a spinning skirl, and even Beth Cassel dancing with Clay Cerwyn.

He found his daughter Lyanna and gave her a dance as promised, swinging her through _Iron Lances_ before placing his children in the charge of Old Nan. The Great Hall was rapidly becoming a place unsuitable for younger ones.

Sansa was with another man, from the Vale, his crest bore a red castle on white, young and handsome. “My wife thanks you for the pleasure of your company.” He stepped between Sansa and the knight before turning his back to the man, placing his hands on her waist and pulling her close.

“Jon, that was ill done,” she admonished.

“Hardly, let the boy find another woman to paw on.” He bent towards her, intending to take a kiss but she pushed him away.

“You are in your cups.”

“Aye, I’m drunk, but not from ale,” he whispered against her neck before kissing the place just behind her ear he knew would draw shivers from her.

The singer began to play _My Lady Wife_ , Jon pulled Sansa close as they began to dance, it was an ideal song for his purposes. “I have been watching you.”

“You should have been with me, not watching from a distance,” she retorted.

“I imagined you dancing for me, clad only in jewelry I’ve given you.” He stroked up her side to her ears before drifting lower and tracing her neck with one finger. “Diamond earrings, a necklace made of the finest stones,” he began, his hand sliding down one breast to settle back at her waist, “perhaps even a gold chain resting about your hips.”

Sansa gave him a tantalizing smile before kissing him, a slow rub of their lips together. “When would I wear such things? Besides, there are different kinds of treasure.”

Jon could hear the light echoes of her laugh in his head, she was teasing him. “Aye, I’ll show them to you once we get that dress of yours off.”

A new song began, _Her Little Flower,_ bawdy and fast, putting a stop to their conversation. They moved quickly to the music, amongst the crush and flow of couples engaged in their own dance.

The singers moved on to _The Queen Took Off Her Sandal, the King Took Off His Crown_ and Jon knew, they would need to leave the hall soon. He stopped their movements and pulled her against him. “Bran tells me you wished for us to disappear into the forest.”

“Did he?” His wife placed her arms around his neck, looking him in the eyes. “I told Rickon a story today, of magic hidden away in the forest.”

“Shall we go find it?” The harvest feast meant he would be stuck in meetings with Robb and their vassals for the next several days. After that, if Sansa wished for different kinds of treasure, he would give them to her.

“Will you be taking me away then?”

“I think I will. Tonight though, there is one more thing for me still to do.”

Her hands slid down, settling on his chest. “And what would that be?” She already knew the answer.

“It’s the bedding song, I intend to steal my bride.”

Sansa looked at him in mock horror before turning around and running away. Jon waited patiently, letting her gain a bit of distance, before giving chase.

Jon caught her in the courtyard just outside the Great Hall, pulling her to him before throwing her over his shoulder. The laugh she gave in response was more beautiful than any music he had heard that night.

  
  
  
  



	2. Chapter 2

Sansa leaned against her husband, nestling herself further into the cradle of his arms, taking in his scent, the mix of leather and pine that never quite left him.  The gentle rise and fall of his chest worked in rhythm with his warm breath against her ear, a pattern that had become both familiar and comfortable over the years. “Will you tell me now where we are going?”

She bent her head back, peering up at Jon but received only a kiss on the cheek in answer. Sansa knew they would not be travelling far when he had insisted they share a horse for their day’s journey. They traveled south on the kings road, enjoying the warmth of the summer sun and it’s accompanying wind, causing the slightest creak of the oak and pine branches as they passed by.

“Shall we go north of the wall, to meet the Children and explore their caves?” She stroked the exposed skin above his tunic.

“Too far and too cold.  We also happen to be pointing south,” he pointed out. There was a lightness to his tone that suggested he was enjoying her guesses.

“South,” she repeated, as if puzzling over a great mystery. “Ah, to Harrenhal and the Isle of Faces. Will we visit the greenseers and learn their mysteries?”

“My wife is an inquisitive creature.” Another kiss on the cheek was her only reward. “We will be leaving this road behind shortly enough. You’ll be wanting to walk, I’ll expect?” he asked, already knowing her answer.

“For a short while,” she answered, pulling away from his warmth. Even through the layers of clothing, the heat of his body seeped into hers. Sansa imagined some of his scent rubbed onto her as well. She was not one for horse riding as her sister, she wished to revel in every experience that day.

Jon drew their horse to a stop and Sansa slid to the hardened dirt beneath them, content to walk alongside, the skirts of her red wool dress swinging as she walked. She began to hum the words to Jenny’s song as they moved, stopping a few times to pick up wildflowers that grew along the edges of the road. Her husband gave a bellowing laugh, circling her, once, twice, before climbing down to walk beside her.

“We are close, come,” Jon offered his arm, guiding her into the woods.

“My husband spoke true, we are disappearing into the forest.”

“Aye, to find our magic.”

They walked for a little under an hour, keeping to the leisurely pace Jon set, passing among the pines and oaks, even a few ash and chestnuts. The only sounds were their voices and the crunch of their boots as they walked over the old needles and leaves littering the forest floor. Sansa caught sight of a few squirrels playing and running along the tree branches, curious about the interlopers passing them by.

“Jon….” He had spoken true. She slid her hand into his, their fingers laced together.  “It’s an enchantment.”

He had led Sansa to a hidden clearing in the wolfswood, she had been honest in her wonderment. There was a creek running through the spot, she guessed it would lead to the White Knife if they followed the water long enough. One side of the shore, not so far from them it had a small waterfall, of a height with their little Lyanna. Rich green grass grew alongside the water, broken only by the occasional large jettisoning rock over the creek. Less than twenty paces from them, a pair of weirwood trees grew, their trunks thick and roots covering the dirts and rocks nearby. The red leaves and white branches formed a canopy over them, their rustles whispering a song.

He said nothing, pulling her towards the water where he took off his cloak and laid it on the ground for them to rest upon. “Jory used to take us here when we were boys to go fishing. In the afternoons, we’d swim in the cold water before drying on the rocks, warmed by the sun.” He paused, thinking on his memories. “Theon would bring his bow, insisting a boar or stag might come upon us. He always did have a knack for the thing.”

Sansa stayed quiet, letting Jon lose himself in the past. It was unspoken, but she knew the time he spoke of was before the death of her parents and Lady, and Jory, before her years in King’s Landing and the wars. Before they found each other again. Before their Brandon.  

“Today is not a day for ghosts and spirits.” Jon feathered a kiss on her lips before leaving her to pull items from his saddle bags. “Sit down, I brought you something.”

She settled on his cloak, pulling out the ribbon that bound her hair before combing her fingers through it. Sansa took in the stillness around them and listened to the water as it passed them by. The past fortnight had been a rush of people and activity. She had entertained ladies in her solar, spent afternoons on her embroidery, oversaw meals and feasts, and more. Sansa had even discreetly provided moon tea to a few of the young ladies that had come to Winterfell for the harvest feast. She had seen little of her husband, his responsibilities keeping him apart from her for much of the day and many of the evenings.

“We could eat the rest of our food if wish it but I thought you’d rather start with this.”

Jon placed a square of linen by her, the lemon cakes falling over the sides. Sansa picked one up and bit into it, enjoying the sweet and bitter taste of the citrus on her tongue. “You may have the bread and cheese to eat,” she offered before laughing at him.

He did not respond, picking up a tendril of her hair and twirling it among his fingers before surprising her.

_My featherbed is deep and soft,_

_and there I’ll lay you down,_

_I’ll dress you all in yellow silk_

_and on your head a crown._

Sansa opened her mouth but no words spilled forth. His voice was lovely, deep and raspy, almost like a whisper. She never thought to hear it in this way. “You’re singing,” she stuttered

Jon let go of her hair, picking up one of the lemon cakes, amused at her reaction “I know how to do it, Sansa. I’ve merely chosen not too,” he chuckled.

“You should do so more, you have a pretty voice,” she urged him.

He moved away from her, sitting closer to her feet. “And join you in song at feast times? I think not,” he said, dismissing her suggestion. One hand cupped the ankle closest to him, his thumb gently stroking in a circle. He ate the lemon cake he held with one bite, swallowing before speaking again, “You could sing for me.” His voice was lower, growing husky. His hand slid up to her calf.

_For you shall be my lady love,_

_and I shall be your lord._

_I’ll always keep you warm and safe,_

_and guard you with my sword_.

She meant to begin the next verse but gave a laughing shriek instead. Jon looked at her, his face a picture of innocence. The hand between her thigh told a different story. “May I ask what you are doing?”

Jon licked his lips, his eyes drifting over what he had revealed. “Making you comfortable.”

She helpfully spread her legs the barest amount and leaned up so her weight rested on her arms. “By lifting my skirts?”

“Aye, and removing your boots and stockings too.” His eyes gleamed at her. “Here, have another lemon cake,” he offered, giving her one before eating another.

Sansa spread her legs a bit more, the flare of her husband’s nostrils told her he had not missed the gesture. She nibbled at her lemon cake, content to let Jon remove one boot then the other.

One hand went up her leg, sliding over her calves and settling on her thigh before removing her silk stocking. He kissed the inside of her knee before repeating the same process with her other leg. “I believe you'll find that much more comfortable.”

“I find it indecent,” she counted.

Jon pulled off his doublet before responding. “Indecent? I'm afraid my lady wife will be quite scandalized by what I further intend.”  He pulled his tunic from his breeches before sitting back on his haunches. “Wine?”

He poured two cups for them from the skin of wine he had brought. Sansa sat up before taking a sip of the lightly spiced Arbor red. She took another lemon cake, splitting it before handing a piece to Jon. He bit directly into the cake, letting his tongue lick along the edges of her fingers.

“I missed you.” Jon did not elaborate, choosing to lightly kiss her instead. His head came to rest on her shoulder, his hot breath against her neck.

“You belong to the north as much as you do us, Jon,” she murmured in his ear. Secretly, Sansa blamed her brother for it, there were moments, days and days even where she resented Robb.

“Is that what you think? Believe me, you could not be more wrong.” Jon looked away from her and began pulling at his hair before exhaling loudly. He grew quiet then.

The silence between them grew, thick and painful. Sansa began to fear she had ruined their day, it was her resentment that had made her speak as she did.

“You can cease with these thoughts,” he said, taking her hand to kiss her palm.

“I said nothing.”

“And yet I heard you all the same.” He released her hand, leaning in. “I spoke to Robb the day after the harvest feast. A raven was sent to Helman Tallhart, he’s agreed to come stay at Winterfell for a while to assist. We leave for Dragonstone when he arrives.”

Sana blinked away the tears. “How long?”

“Six or seven moons maybe. I had thought to tell you and the children tonight. Are you pleased?”

She fell into his arms in answer, causing a growly laugh to burst from him. Their lips came together, intense and so very familiar. They both tasted of lemon and wine. Sansa slid her hands under his tunic to feel the firm skin underneath, lightly grazing the hair along his chest.

Jon pulled away to lift his tunic off, tossing it away, before frantically trying to undo the ties on her gown. “Seven hells, I’m replacing your dresses with sacks when we return to Winterfell. This damned thing…”  

Sansa began to assist, their hands and fingers tangling together. Jon began panting as his urgency grew. Her laces done, they pulled the red wool off, laying it nearby. “Buggering hell,” he moaned, glimpsing her chemise underneath and began to pull something from his boot.

She pushed at his arms. “You are not cutting this off me. We agreed…."

His eyes were more black than grey and his breathing had quickened. “Better get that off you then,” he growled out.

Sansa did as requested, placing the thin silk over her gown. Jon leapt at her, sliding her to the ground as he began kissing her neck, moving lower, lower to her breasts.

“So beautiful...mine...all mine..,” he whispered, between licking and sucking at one nipple then the other. He licked at one before blowing at it, sending a shiver through her body. “Spread your legs for me.” His voice had gone low and rough.

She did as requested before their eyes met as he began to untie her small clothes, tossing them away. Sansa’s toes curled as a shiver of anticipation ran through her.

Jon stayed on his knees, gaze travelling over her body before his hand trailed a path through the curls at her center before pulling her folds apart. “Pink and already shining with your juices, Sansa.”

She felt a single finger slowly travel between her legs and a familiar ache grew within her, she let out a high-pitched moan of anticipation. Jon settled between her legs and gave her a long, slow lick. Sansa arched her back at the first contact before tangling her fingers into the curls on his head and wrapping her thighs around him.

Sansa had once told him his tongue was a gift from the gods and he was proving that truth again today. She lost herself to the bliss and pleasure of it all, reveling in the feel of his tongue licking and sucking at her nub as his fingers dug into her hips to pull her closer to his mouth. Sansa began to cry out, a desperate mewling cry, as her body slowly tensed and grew still as her release came upon her.

Jon gave a final slow lick before kissing her mound. “I could spend the rest of my days, here, between your legs. I love to hear your cries and the painful tugs of my hair. There are times I wonder which of us enjoys this more, did you know that?” His words were slightly muffled as he still lay as he had been.

Sansa giggled. “Me. I enjoy it more.” She felt sated, still floating along the waves of pleasure he had given her.

He sat up and began quickly pulling at the laces of his breeches, his urgency amusing her. Jon shoved them down and away before giving her an expression that made her think of a wolf hunting prey.

“Lay down,” she ordered him.

At first, she thought he would balk at her but he did as requested, Jon was not always patient when that look came upon him, she had seen it many times. He laid down before pulling at her waist so she sat astride his hips. Sansa ran her nails down his chest and along his stomach, relishing the warm skin and firm muscles under her.

“Careful, wife," he said, practically snarling in his arousal.

Jon lifted her up a bit and Sansa impaled herself on him, a whimper escaping her as she did so. She began to rock her hips against his, her head falling back so she could feel her hair tickling her lower back.

He leaned forward to cup one of her breasts before suckling at the other. “Lovely…” he mumbled before turning his attention to her other breast.

Sansa began to rake at his chest, she was growing close. Jon released her breasts to grasp her hips and bottom to begin thrusting up into her with ever increasing urgency. She held herself still, lost in the way he began to fill her and the slick, wet sound of their bodies slapping together. Jon’s face grew even more red as it moved into that grimace she recognized.

“Spill inside me, give me your seed,” she directed him.

He began to roar, fiercely slamming into her before releasing a final grunt and stilling. Sansa fell onto his chest, enjoying the feel of his arms around her. They lay without speaking as their hearts slowed and breathing returned to normal.

“Sansa?”

“Hmm…”she said absently, playing with one of the curls on his chest.

“Whatever piece of me the north had, it lost it the day I found you. I hope you know that.”

She slid up his body until she was looking down at him. Jon’s hair was mussed and the edges of it were damp. She began to stroke along the edge of his brow. “I think you’ll need to remind me sometimes.”

Jon’s hands moved down her back to settle in the small of her back before kissing her once again.

After, they lay together, sharing idle conversation and Winterfell gossip. Jon brought out the rest of their food and they ate in a companionable silence over the fresh fruit, yellow cheese, and bread. It was simple fare and she loved every glorious bite of it.

Filled, Sansa lay back down and looked up at the red leaves and white branches above her. Neither of the pair of weirwoods here in the wolfswood were as large as the one that grew in the Winterfell godswood but they each had a strength to them she liked.

_And how she smiled and how she laughed, the maiden of the tree._

_She spun away and said to him,_

_no featherbed for me._

_I’ll wear a gown of golden leaves,_

_and bind my hair with grass,_

_But you can be my forest love,_

_and me your forest lass._

She began to sing the final lines of their earlier song but almost stopped when Jon joined in on the final two. Her eyes grew big at his voice. “Jon?”

He laughed in amusement. “I forbid you to ever speak of it again.”

Sansa pretended to be shocked. “No, never.”

Jon laid on top of her once again, keeping his weight on his arms, as his expression grew serious. “We should have before…”

“...in the crofters village,” she finished for him.

He slowly began to enter her, neither of them speaking, as he filled her for the second time that day. Jon kissed her as they settled into a gentle pace, their rhythm  unhurried. “I love you,” he whispered into her ear.

The only sounds she could hear was the gentle flow of the water in the nearby creek, the rustle of the leaves around them, and the leisurely movements of their lovemaking.

“I love you, Jon Snow,” she responded, holding him tightly against her.

 


End file.
